


Doll Parts

by dollylux



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drugs, Dry Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Rough Sex, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: Jared has a bad night, and he makes some really terrible fucking decisions.





	Doll Parts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts), [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/gifts), [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts).



> kisses& a vial of my blood& a snip of my hair to my beautiful homo-pink who helped me hatch this little idea. loveyouloveyou. <3
> 
> title from miss courtney love, of fucking course♥

Jared isn’t a singer.

He plays guitar like it’s a sweet pink cunt, long fingers flying in a blur and creating a sound so searing it melts the panties off even the coldest of boy’s bodies, but a singer? No. He groans out backing vocals for Jeff, mumbles along to whatever happens to be playing on the bus while he restrings his guitar or cleans his boots or settles in nice and deep down Jensen’s throat, but it’s not what he does. Who he is.

So when Jared Tristan Padalecki switches places with Jeff onstage in Des Moines and lowers his grisly, sweaty face to tuck his mouth right up against the mic, Jensen feels faint.

He clutches the edge of the stage and pushes up on his tiptoes, straining to catch Jared’s eyes which are a shade wilder tonight, glassy and wrecked and unseeing. It puts a bad feeling in Jensen’s belly, not unlike the kind he gets when he pretends he’s pregnant and suffering from morning sickness.

“First-time mothers,” Jeff always sighs sympathetically, putting a cold cloth over Jensen’s forehead after he’s given an offering in the bathroom and crawled to the couch to rub at his belly that’s full of nothing but grade-A come.

But this isn’t that. This is a sinking feeling, a firmly-excluded feeling.

Jared hasn’t glanced down at him all night.

“This is for you,” Jared husks into the microphone, sweat dripping from the ends of his long hair, making his chest glisten, his fingers shimmer on the guitar. It only takes a couple of lines into “Ana’s Song” for Jensen to be one hundred percent sure that the _you_ Jared had given the song to wasn’t him.

And the worst part is: Jared has the most beautiful, heartbreaking voice.

 

The show ends and Jensen floats light as a feather, stiff as a board to the bathroom where all the other girls are pissing and smoking and laughing over bonded show memories, none of them throwing a second glance to the femme little boy standing in front of the hazy, sticky mirror, staring at his own beautiful face and messy hair and wondering not for the first or fourth or fiftieth time why Jared chose him and how long it’s gonna last.

He sprinkles baby powder in his hair to dry it and make it smell sweet before pinning the long parts back with a plastic red heart barrette he’d found in the parking lot of a Wendy’s back in Michigan. Cola gloss makes his mouth obscenely shiny and emphasizes the fact that little Jenny Ackles spends a lot of time with a dick in his mouth. He makes sure the bathroom is entirely empty before he takes out a brown eyeliner pencil from his polka-dot purse and colors in some of the freckles along his cheeks, trying and succeeding to make himself look younger than his already tender fourteen years, the prettiest version of himself.

He tucks his weapons back into the purse at his hip and blinks kewpie fuckdoll eyes at his reflection, only holding in a smirk because it ruins the effect.

Jared’s gonna eat him up tonight.

 

_meet me out front. gimme twenty or so to pack up. we’ll go grab some dinner. xo_

Jensen reads the text Jared had sent him before the show for the tenth time before he slips his phone back into the pocket of his sluttiest, threadbare shorts, eyes darting around nervously like a girl waiting on a blind date.

There are lots of kids still milling around the venue, spilling out of the bar next door and filling the air with liquored-up laughter and the smell of Marlboros, and Jensen knows without looking over to confirm that he’s got at least five guys eyeing him right now, probably trying to decide how much of a fight he’ll put up if they decide they wanna gangrape him in the alley.

He runs his fingers over the rainbow shive clipped on his back right pocket, a gift from Chad a couple states back after Jensen had gotten cornered in a Wal-Mart bathroom by two rednecks with a hard-on for making queers bleed from the back.

 _Try me,_ he sends out into the universe, his jaw set, mouth pursed as he looks around more desperately for Jared.

It’s been forty-five minutes. No way it takes that long to shower and pack up his guitar and--

It’s a flash of blond so pale it looks like lightning that stops every thought in his head, every muscle in his body except his pounding heart.

It’s a boy who’s more of a genderfuck than Jensen himself, his hair long and messy and white as the slice of moon overhead, and he looks particularly breakable under the thick protection of Jared’s arm that’s slung over his shoulders like it belongs there.

They’re leaving the venue and crossing the street to the lot where the bus is waiting, Jared’s long legs eating up the pavement so that the little one under his arm has to walk quickly to keep up. The boy turns suddenly and for no apparent reason and looks over his shoulder, his eyes massive on his gaunt, translucent face, nothing but dark holes that seem to find and lock on Jensen. Something like understanding passes between them, an exchange of stories like body fluids. He feels tongue-fucked and pitied.

Another babyless wave of nausea hits him, and the only reason he doesn’t sink to his knees right there is because he doesn’t want the predatory fucks smoking a few yards away to take it as an open invitation.

Jared leads his little ghost straight onto the bus. Pulls the door closed behind them.

It takes Jensen Ackles, a smart kid with the survival instincts of a cockroach, all of thirty seconds before he picks his heart up off the dirty sidewalk and walks across the street to the bus, not looking both ways before he does.

The thought of being hit by a car is too beautiful right now, too romantic. Maybe he would shiver out his last few breaths right there in the street with dozens of witnesses, and Jared would come rushing off the bus, zipping his pants back up and realizing his mistake before he even made it to the road where his little love lays dying, limbs contorted even beyond what Jared can fashion him into when he’s dicking him, blood trickling from his mouth like smeared lipstick. MAC Russian Red. For sure.

He would make a gorgeous corpse. Something to really shed some tears over. Definitely somebody to write songs for, or at least fucking dedicate a song _to_.

He takes his time, but nothing comes. Not even a bicycle.

Safely across the street and standing in front of the bus now, he has no choice but to get on it.

Bauhaus are playing over the speakers by the time he closes the door behind him, and he’s quiet as a stowaway as he walks across the small open space and sinks down onto the couch, feeling small and young and forgotten.

Peter Murphy and the unmistakable, eviscerating sound of kissing.

Jensen sits stunned on the couch, a ditched prom queen, and he throws his frantic thoughts back over the last few days to find the source of this, what he did wrong to make Jared punish him so savagely, to make him bring a boy even more lovely and delicate than he is back onto the bus right in front of him, take him back to _their bed_ , and fuck him.

He’d eaten the last two Cinnabons from their midnight dinner at Taco Bell Sunday night, but Jared had grinned at him and tackled him to the couch and eaten right from his mouth, greedy and spoiled as a baby bird.

He and Adri had overruled the rest of the bus and put in Madonna’s classic _True Blue_ just so they could sing along to “Papa Don’t Preach” in their panties (well, Adrianne in her boxers) while the pills took them higher and higher or maybe it was last night when Jensen had shied away from Jared’s fist, his cunt all tender and punch-swollen and leaking pink cream after Jared’s dick had finished with him for the fourth time and had slimed out of his rosy center streaked with blood, his slit still flexing around his thick PA.

He never tells Jared no, not ever, but he’d been the bad kinda sore all night, like maybe he needs some healing time before he takes care of his man with anything but his mouth for awhile. Jared had shrugged though, just wrapped his big, sweaty body around Jensen’s and dozed off with him while they watched Pammy and Tommy Lee’s sex tape for the twentieth time.

Maybe it was that. Him telling Jared no. Maybe he’s being punished for saying no?

“Oh, baby,” comes a sad voice from very close, and Jensen feels pathetic enough to wrap his arms around the neck in front of him, his eyes closing against the burn of tears as he’s lifted into action hero arms and held on Momo’s waist like a baby. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

They’re fucking now, definitely fucking. It sounds brutal and dry and like the boy is in a whole world of pain, and Jensen wants to rip him out of their bed and offer himself up as a sacrifice for Jared to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

“I’m sorry,” he says against Jason’s sweaty curls as he’s carried down the aisle between the bunks and right to Adrianne’s bed because Jason’s own is right above Jared’s. Jason tucks Jensen against the wall before he climbs in right after him, pipe already packed with green, pink Bic offered to Jensen for him to take the first hit.

“Don’t you be sorry,” Momo says sternly, holding the pipe to Jensen’s mouth and not lowering it until Jensen takes a strong hit. “This isn’t you. Okay? That’s… that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Jensen asks, his voice shaky as he fights against tears edging along his eyes, and nothing in the world could block out the sound now; the rough, steady packing of skin against skin, the low thrum of a growl from Jared that makes him sound inhuman, that makes him sound like blood-stained teeth and razors on skin and like he doesn’t listen to no.

Jensen wants it all. Every bit. Doesn’t want anybody else to have it, no matter how bad it hurts.

“It’s…” Jason glances over where Adri's blackout curtain is closed, blocking them from the rest of the bus. He grits his teeth and frowns down at the tiny pipe in his big hands. “It’s the anniversary. Of… of Daniel.”

Jensen stares at him through the haze of pot smoke and tears, and the lack of comprehension on his face makes Jason’s eyes widen.

“He’s… he’s never told you? About Daniel?”

Coming up on three months on this bus, he’s started to really settle in, to feel at home. To not feel like a nuisance when he’s in the bathroom and someone else needs to use it or when he wants to take an hour detour to Chamberlain, Maine to daydream about where Carrie White killed over 400 people.

This is his home. This is his family.

He swallows back the bile that’s risen up to the back of his throat.

“No,” he manages, meeting Jason’s eyes and trying to cling to the last shreds of dignity he has.

“Ah, man. Jesus fuck,” Jason sighs, running a paw through his hair and tossing a glare at no one over his shoulder before he gives Jensen his full attention again. He passes him the pipe and the lighter and pulls his legs up to his chest, surprisingly limber for a guy built like a wet dream. “I’m sorry, babe. I can’t… I mean, that’s not my story to tell, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“What’s the big fucking deal?” Jensen finally spits out, gripping the pipe so tight in his hand that it shakes. He drops his voice to a whisper, not wanting a confrontation, not feeling secure enough in anything to look Jared or that haunt of a boy in the eyes and ask them why. Why? “So he broke up with some guy. And? I have exes, too! People have fucked me over and left me--”

“Daniel slit his wrists when they were kids,” Jason says, keeping his voice soft enough that the Bauhaus hide it, and he can’t seem to meet Jensen’s eyes now. “He killed himself. Jared found him.”

All the air leaves Jensen’s body and he slumps back against the wall of the bunk, staring at Momo with bright, uncomprehending eyes, his mouth open but he doesn’t have a single word. Not for this revelation.

“Oh,” is what he finally says, but it’s more a whimper than a word.

“That’s… I don’t know much more than that. And I only know that because me and Erica drove down to Miami together one weekend for the Ultimate Drag Queen competition, and she told me. Like I said, it’s not my story to tell. And it’s no excuse. Especially not for…”

Jason grits his teeth again and huffs out a sigh, tucking the pipe and lighter onto the built-in shelf above his little bed. He grabs Jensen and pulls him down and into his arms, wrapping around him in suffocating warmth, something Jensen craves constantly and appreciates, even if these are the wrong arms.

“It’s not an excuse. But it’s a reason. And I just wanted you to know,” Jason says quietly against his ear, his fingers rubbing out the hundreds of knots tied up in Jensen’s neck and shoulders.

He relaxes after awhile, Jason’s bulk blocking out most of the sounds from outside the bunk, and the couple of hits off the pipe helps Jensen take a full breath finally, and he thinks maybe he’ll survive the night.

 

Jared wakes up with hair in his mouth.

It’s soft as spun silk and white as a newborn’s soul, and it tastes like days and weeks of life on the road as he works it off of his tongue and finally spits it out.

He groans, stretching out on his back, his heavy, limp dick flopping against his stomach and rolling to nestle in the cup of one hip.

“Jenny, baby,” he sighs, reaching blindly for his cigarettes. “Wake up and eat your breakfast.”

He plucks a cigarette free and puts it to his mouth before threading his fingers in that babydoll hair and pulling him over, guiding Jensen’s sleepsoft mouth to his cock.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

Jared’s eyes fly open.

The face down near his dick is a beautiful one, for sure, so much like PZB’s Ghost-child, so much like Jared’s own Hawthorne haunts that his stomach lurches. The cigarette falls from his mouth as his dark-swirled eyes hold Prussian blue ones.

“Who are you?” he finally asks.

“My…” The boy sits up, naked and starved, all his ribs showing as he steals glances at Jared’s fat dick in between rushed breaths. “My name’s Ba--”

“No, don’t… nevermind. Don’t tell me. Just, um.” He shoves the curtain back and practically falls out of the bunk, naked except for his Frankenstein’s monster-print socks that Jensen had gotten him at a Party City somewhere in Ohio, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the bus is still parked. “Get dressed. You have to go.”

The silence that follows is the familiar one of total heartbreak, and Jared doesn’t do a thing to alleviate it. He digs the cigarette out of his sheets and settles on the couch naked, his hair a fuck-wild nest that hangs down around his shoulders and his face, his dick bruised with stolen virginity, his skin tender all over from a boy who may have cannibalistic tendencies.

He ashes into a melted vanilla shake on the coffee table and tries in vain to dig around for his last memory before waking up.

Yesterday morning: waking up with Jen. Bad dream that would’ve ruined his whole day, but Jensen had sprawled out on the bed and offered his tit up for Jared’s mouth like the best momma in the world, and Jared had suckled his problems away while rutting between Jensen’s freshly-shaven thighs.

Good morning.

Des Moines. Thai takeout for lunch. Two soundchecks because of a shitty system at the venue. Trying on sunglasses at the Walmart down the street with Momo and Jensen and Adri. Jason had gotten the heart-shaped ones, Jensen had gotten the molester-cop ones, and Adrianne had stolen a big pack of strawberry Twizzlers and taken bets on how many she could fit inside of a girl that night.

Check, check, check.

Blond hair outside the venue on the way back. A check of his phone for a reminder of the date. A visit with Chad for a handful of pills. A trip to the bathroom for a couple of lines of coke off the back of his hand. Then… then nothing. Nothing except maybe--

“Silverchair,” he mumbles under his breath, cigarette dangling from his lips. The boy climbs out of the bunk, fully dressed now in black skinny jeans and a Jesus and the Mary Chain t-shirt that looks older than both of them combined. The boy’s red-eyed now and pouting, not meeting Jared’s eyes as he forces his feet back into school shooter black boots, his angel hair dangling in front of his face.

“Did you make me fuck you to Bauhaus last night?” Jared asks.

“You said you didn’t want to use lube or… or anything. And it was my first time. We compromised.” Boots on, hair pushed behind his ears. A boy with a soul planted firmly between the death of post-punk and the birth of grunge. Just like his own. It makes his dick throb a little to see him so heartbroken.

“Did you bleed?” Another flick of ash into vanilla. Their eyes meet, and it burns.

“Yeah,” the boy trembles out, pulling on a flannel shirt that Jared swears got buried in a grave a long time ago.

“What’dya say?” He stares hard into the boy’s eyes, his balls aching for the fear there.

“Thank you,” the boy whispers.

Jared grunts, long fingers closing around his cigarette to pluck it from his dry lips.

“Now get the fuck out of here. Go call your girlfriend to pick you up.”

The boy’s pleading now with all the beauty he has--which is a lot, if you ask Jared--but Jared stares on indifferently, watching him with a bored expression while he smokes his morning cigarette, and the kid has no choice but to scrape up the last of his dignity and make his way to the front of the bus, to the steps, to the door.

The slightest hesitation there, and Jared waits, smoke held in his lungs. He doesn’t exhale until the door opens and the thud of boots disappears onto broken pavement, and the door closes behind him.

He exhales through his mouth and inhales the smoke right up into his nose only to cycle it out again in a heavy sigh, feeling like he’s just cleared a house of ghosts.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, rubbing hard at his left eye with the heel of his hand.

“What the fuck did you do?” comes Jeff’s voice, quiet enough that Jared doesn’t jump.

“When are we leaving this shithole?” Jared asks. His head feels like it’s in a vice, and just the thought of a prefrontal cortex lobotomy has him reaching down to rub his dick against his hairy thigh. Relief. Such sweet goddamn relief.

“Sometimes I swear it’s like you’re really my kid somehow. Like I made a detour in San Antone one day and fucked some housewife pussy, and he fuckin’ found me when he got old enough to be dangerous.” Jeff pulls a cigarette from somewhere, his magic trick, and plops down next to him as he lights it on the tip of Jared's.

Jared doesn’t say anything in reply, just lets the cigarette burn between his fingers as he stares across the bus and tries in vain to remember anything solid about last night. Even one thing. But there’s nothing. Nothing but music.

“You fuck up just as nice as I do, kid. I don’t know if you understand how truly impressive that is.”

“Where is he?”

“Who? Your little ghost?”

Jared closes his eyes, tenses at that word, at how easy Jeff sees through him. A sliver of nausea cuts through his belly, burns up the back of his throat.

“Jensen,” he says, slow and quiet, his teeth gritted.

“He’s holed up with Jase, licking his wounds. Wondering what the fuck he did wrong, I’m sure.” It’s said completely without judgement, with a tinge of sadness that makes the backs of Jared’s eyes burn.

“I need to see him.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea ri--”

“I don’t really fuckin’ care, Papa,” Jared shoots back, climbing up from the couch with more energy than he knew he had in him, and he only gets about ten feet before his world is invaded by more blonde, this time with eyes that pierce him like daggers, on somebody who stands nearly as tall as he does and who isn’t afraid of him, not even a little.

“Jay, I love you. You know that. You’re my boy and all. But if you go anywhere near him right now, I’ll fucking slice you open and let Snowball have a feast.” Adrianne’s not wearing anything but black bikini bottoms and Momo’s cowboy hat, but Jared is completely confident that she could murder him somehow.

Jared opens his mouth, but it’s only to defend the idea that Snowball would eat his innards. He glances over at Snowball on the couch, licking his chops from his morning can of Friskies, and he knows better. He deflates, lowering his gaze.

“Fine,” he mumbles.

He spares a glance at the solid black rectangle that covers Adrianne’s bunk where he can hear Jason snoring, and he swear he feels it, that weird pull between him and that scrap of a child curled up there, the same pull he felt the first time he saw him in the crowd back in Texas, when he saw Jensen waiting for him after the show next to the bus, when he’s up onstage and he looks out and finds bright green eyes and a just-married smile only for him. For a worthless piece of shit named Jared Padalecki.

He'd thought at first it was just his dick talking. Then that maybe it was the drugs. But now, when he climbs back into his bunk and tears off all the sheets and blankets and throws them into the aisle to fall back on a bare mattress that doesn’t smell like anything but sweat and mold, he wonders if maybe it’s something more.

A whole lot fucking more.

 

“Jenny?”

Jensen opens his eyes and plucks the headphone out of one ear, Sonic Youth falling to a murmur as he looks over at the crack in the curtain at Adrianne.

“Yeah?”

She holds up a Slush Puppie cup with a straw already in it, a pitying, kind smile tugging on her usually unimpressed mouth.

“Got you a slushie. It’s that blue-flavored one that makes your boyjuice taste good.”

She sing-songs it and shakes the cup to entice him even more, and Jensen doesn’t have the heart to turn her down. He forces a smile onto his face and takes the cold drink, even pressing it to his lips and taking a frozen pull of it, the sugar and ice of it going straight to his toes. He shivers, and it makes her grin, just for a second.

“Thanks,” he says, and he means it. He rests his cheek back on his arm and looks out at her from his new bunk, the one left empty by some guy named Stephen who they all called The Thirst. She steps on Chad’s bunk to reach into Jensen’s and run a hand over his smooth cheek, her short nails scritching over his scalp as she looks down at him with paternal worry.

“How you feelin’?” she asks, and she knows better. Everybody knows better.

He stays quiet in the relative dark, accepting the comfort from her big, warm hand and staring into her pale eyes as he nurses from his bent, already chewed-up straw.

“How close are we to Topeka?” he asks instead of giving her any kind of answer.

“Couple of hours.” She pauses, thumb sliding over his cheek. “You don’t have to go tonight. You can just stay here and catch up on… I don’t know. Whatever you kids are watching now.”

Jensen snorts, piercing pulling at one of his dimples.

“The last thing I marathoned was _Dynasty_.”

She shakes her head with a genuinely amused smirk, booping him on the nose with her thumb before stepping back down to the floor.

“You’re so weird.”

Jensen smiles tiredly, his hand already numb from holding the cup.

“I know.”

 

He doesn’t end up going to the Topeka show, or the one in Broken Arrow. He waits until he’s sure Jared isn’t on the bus before he does anything, which means he holds it until he’s ready to die and doesn’t eat for most of the day sometimes, but it’s worth it. Worth it not to have to see his face, to see the indifference that might be there, the disinterest that’s already set in. Maybe even annoyance at what a baby Jensen’s being.

Truth is, he’s never had a boyfriend before. And he’s stupid enough that he doesn’t even know if he has one right now, let alone what the fuck to do when he’s fighting with him.

“Is it even cheating if we’re not even together?” he asks Jeff who’s sitting on the couch with Jensen’s legs in his lap, strong, warm hands massaging some yummy rose-smelling oil into Jensen’s little piggies. Everybody else is out eating hangover food at Denny’s, so Jensen feels safe venturing out of his bunk for awhile. Jeff’s half-watching _Easy Rider_ on the TV, and Jensen has one leg propped up enough so that Jeff can peek down one leg of his shorts and see his mint green Little Mermaid panties while he rubs at Jensen’s high arches.

Jeff grunts like he doesn’t like the question, or maybe he doesn’t like gossiping about his friend and partner-in-crime and band-husband, as Adrianne calls him. Jensen cracks an eye open to look at Jeff’s drawn face that is still trained on the tube, but his frown tells him that he’s thinking of a way to answer Jensen’s question.

“If only shit was that easy, right?” is what he finally says, an infuriatingly vague response to a question Jensen really, truly wants answered. He closes his eyes again and forces his face into smooth neutrality, despising the pinch of tears he feels in his nose. He curls his toes around Jeff’s hand and feels him go still, both hands cupping one of Jensen’s feet, cradling it. Jeff sighs.

“I wish I knew the magic word for all this, kiddo,” Jeff says softly, thumb stroking up along his arch, over and over. “Unfortunately, I’m worse at love than your boy is. You wouldn’t even believe it. Legendary-level bad. Mythical.”

Jensen snorts, pushing his foot lazy and gentle against Jeff’s palm.

“I’m not gonna tell you to forgive him. Or that he has a good reason. And I’m sure as fuck not gonna tell you that you deserved it. You just… you’ll know what to do, when the time comes.”

“How?” Jensen asks, his voice barely audible, but the word trembles out. He forces his chin to stop shaking.

“Can’t explain it,” Jeff sighs, taking up his firm rub of Jensen’s feet, fingers sliding between his toes. “It’s just all a part of it. Love’s one of those things where you’ve gotta trust your gut.”

Jensen swallows hard, a thin arm flung over his eyes to hide any wetness that might escape.

“Thanks, Papa,” he whispers.

“So, uh. Now that we’ve got these feet all lubed up, what do you say we put ‘em to good use? Would be a shame to waste all this oil.” Jensen looks up in time to see Jeff tug at the button on his jeans and wolf-grin down at the boy stretched across the couch, and just the suggestion makes Jensen burst out laughing, one of his Lolita feet arching hard to press against Jeff’s lap, teasing at the fat dick lying in wait there in his jeans like a snake in the grass.

“Hush,” Jensen instructs, smirking at him with a happy glint in his eye that hasn’t been there in days and days. Jeff’s smile gentles, pleased that he made Jensen laugh, and he pours more oil out onto his palm to start massaging scrawny, freckled calves.

 

It’s a night between shows, a lazy night where everybody but Jensen decides to go play miniature golf at some shit hole place in Marfa, and Jensen basks in it. He takes a shower and shaves his legs and his pussy, squeezes blackheads out of his nose and puts on some clay mask Gen had left on the bus last time.

He’s wearing a short pink terrycloth robe and white lacy panties fit for a bride, and he’s feeling pretty good about himself as he mouths along to Blondie and rubs moisturizer into his rosy, squeaky clean face, his hair longer now than it ever has it as it hits just along his top lip, making him look juicy and girly and like guys need to make a reservation to sniff his pink.

And maybe they fucking should.

He digs around in his Caboodle for the exact shade of periwinkle he wants to use on his nails and closes it up with a snap. Throwing one last sultry glance at himself in the mirror, he flicks the bathroom light off and pushes the sticky door open, not reacting fast enough to stop himself from taking a step forward and running straight into a chest he knows better than his childhood bed.

“Oh,” he breathes, the air knocked out of him by shock alone. He keeps his head down and closes his eyes to regain even the barest hint of control, and he feels dizzy when he sucks in a lungful of the sweet stink of Jared’s fresh sweat.

Big hands clamp down on his shoulders to steady him, and every single muscle in Jensen’s body goes lax under the touch, and he hates himself for the way he leans into Jared’s body, his forehead nearly resting on his chest.

“Are you okay?” Jared asks, the dumbest question in the entire history of the world, and he seems to know it the second it leaves his mouth. His hands slide up to cup Jensen’s cheeks next, his thumbs meeting below his chin to tip his head up, trying to force Jensen to look at him but he can’t, he just fucking can’t. He keeps his burning eyes closed and can’t stop the wobble of his chin, not for anything. He’s strong, but he’s not that fucking strong.

“I need to talk to you.” It’s not a question or an order, it’s a _plea._ The pain in Jared’s voice almost makes Jensen gasp, makes him open his eyes, but he locks his knees and squeezes his eyes shut tight, nail polish clutched in one hand at his side while the other trembles between them, wanting so badly to grab at Jared’s shirt and not let him go.

“I… I can’t,” Jensen finds himself saying, and the words surprise even him. His eyes fly open and he meets Jared’s lost gaze, his hand finding Jared’s tight stomach and wrapping up a fistful of Violet Femmes tee.

“Please. Jen, please. Just… just give me five minutes. God, it’s been a fuckin’ week. It’s been eight days. I haven’t even _seen_ you. I’ve tried to give you your space, and you deserve it. I know you do. I just… please. Let me--”

He can smell the whiskey on Jared’s breath now, the liquor that’s giving Jared all the words, making him say more in these few minutes than he usually does in a whole day. He hears the clomp of more boots and the voices of everybody else getting on the bus, and every fucking one of them falls quiet when they see what’s happening in the aisle between the bunks.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen rushes out, tearing his eyes away as he lets go of Jared’s shirt. He spins around and starts to rush for his new bed, but Jared grabs him, snatches up his little wrist in his hand, pulling Jensen around to face him before either of them know it’s happening.

“Goddamnit, _please_. Just let me--”

“Jared, let him go,” Adrianne says, her voice seeming to come from every direction, low and perfectly flat. Jared loosens his grip immediately, and Jensen realizes with a sick thrill he’ll have a faint bruise there in the morning.

He doesn’t wait around to watch the aftermath of this, doesn’t want to see Jared looking furious or chastised or neglected. He all but throws himself at his bunk and scrambles up into it, making sure the curtain is closed up tight behind him.

He stays perfectly still in the dark, wide-eyed with his heart thudding in his ears while an uncomfortable silence edges in around the band, and it only stops when Chad offers to pack a bowl for anybody who wants one.

Jensen curls up on his side, knees pulled up tight under his chin, forehead tucked snug down against his knobby kneecaps. He’s shaking all over, adrenaline rushing through him as all the shit he’s tried to pretend isn’t happening over the last week comes flooding to the surface, and he’s crying before he knows it, really crying, Kim Kardashian crying, and he doesn’t care if it’s quiet, if nobody hears, if everybody hears.

It just feels good to get some of the hurt out.

 

It’s probably sometime well after midnight when Jensen awakens to the sound of knuckles on wood.

He opens his eyes in the dark, feeling how swollen and ugly they probably are. He lifts a hand and wipes it hard across his face.

“Yeah?”

“Babe. It’s me.”

He sucks in a breath and holds it, the heel of his hand pushing cruelly against his forehead.

“Yeah?” he says again, more uncertain this time.

“Will you… will you come talk to me? Or let me talk, I guess? Just… just five minutes. Please. You can say no if you really want to, I just… fuck, Jen. I fuckin’ miss you. So goddamn much.”

It’s the most beautiful thing Jensen’s ever, ever heard, that much longing in Jared’s voice, that much pain, and it’s all for _him_. He savors it a little bit longer, lets it drag out until the hurt sharpens into a lethal point. He looks at the sliver of blued light on one side of the curtain where he can see the barest outline of Jared’s shadow, and Jared has to be listening so very carefully to hear it when Jensen finally says yes.

Jared shoves the curtain back with an impatience that makes Jensen wet, and long, solid arms reach into the bunk and pull Jensen out like he’s a kitten or a newborn, drawing him right up into Jared’s arms, bare legs around his skinny waist, head resting right where it belong on Jared’s broad shoulder.

They stay right there, just like that, a little girl being rocked to sleep by her daddy, and Jensen feels the relief coursing through him of just being here, feeling safe and protected again, kept again. Home again.

Jared stirs after several long minutes of swaying quiet, one of his arms cupped around Jensen’s ass, the other one wrapped around his back to hold him close. He presses his whiskered face in close to Jensen’s, nuzzling in to kiss the side of his mouth, breathing there with his sour breath.

They don’t say a word on the way back to their bed, and the sheets smell fresh when Jared slides Jensen across the well-used mattress and crawls in after him. Their curtain snaps in at the corners so it’s a bitch to open from the outside, and Jared rustles and turns over until he’s facing Jensen, both of them on their sides, their faces so close that there’s nothing between them but warm air that heats their skin.

Jensen relaxes against the shared pillow and stares across the dark at Jared, finding and catching his glistening eyes as Jared’s fingers slip into his hair, petting and petting the long, bottle-blond of it, untangling it from where Jensen had fallen asleep with it wet earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, most important, and a beginning. Jensen tenses up, just a little, his eyes wanting to close, but he won’t let them. He stays still, waits him out. “Do you want me to explain what happened?”

Jensen doesn’t, doesn’t ever want to talk about it again, wants to pretend that nothing ever happened and get back to being Jared’s little darling, to being attached to his hip and his cock and not feeling alone anymore, but he knows that’s not how this works. Can feel it in his gut.

He takes a deep breath and nods, knowing Jared can feel it against his wide palm.

“That day was…” Jared stops, seeming surprised when no more words come. His hand stills in Jensen’s hair as they both watch each other in the darkness, Jensen wanting desperately to know the man who doesn’t have anything to say to him. Jared growls soft in his throat, his frustration edging in. His hand leaves Jensen and Jensen seeks it out immediately, finding it clawing at Jared’s wrist in some kind of self-punishment. He threads their fingers together and pulls them against his chest.

“Just… say whatever you want,” Jensen says, trying to keep his voice light, to keep from pleading with him. Jared’s hand is rigid in his grip, fingers flat instead of curled like they usually are, and there’s not a single sound between them, all the noise is outside the bunk: the rumble of the engine beneath them, Op Ivy crooning softly from the front, and Jeff and Adrianne snoring only a few feet away.

The silence strangles on, only broken when Jared flops over onto his back and pulls his hand from Jensen’s grip, running his hands into his own unwashed hair and holding onto it tighter than he ever should.

“Nevermind,” he mumbles.

Jensen slowly sits up, pulling his robe closed around him so he doesn’t feel so vulnerable, like all his soft parts are out and exposed for Jared to slice open. He stares down at the man who looks frighteningly blank now, who is scratching at his wrist beneath the piles of bracelets and string that live there, who seems to have forgotten that Jensen is even here.

Again.

He turns from Jared, pushing hard at the snaps holding their curtain closed. He throws one leg out and just barely gets the tips of his toes to the floor when Jared wraps both arms around him and yanks him back into the bunk.

“Jared--”

“Please,” Jared says against the back of his neck where he’s clutching Jensen, his heart pounding against Jensen’s spine, sweaty face buried against his nape. “God, I just. _Fuck._ ”

It scares him, seeing Jared like this. Seeing Jared be so raw and young, so fucking lost. It makes Jensen realize how young _he_ is, maybe for the first time, makes him realize he doesn’t know the first fucking thing about taking care of somebody else, of helping somebody else get better.

He doesn’t know how to love Jared the way he needs.

“Here,” Jared says, scrambling around behind him and turning Jensen so that they’re facing each other, knobby knees touching. Jared puts a heavy black bag in Jensen’s lap, no bigger than Snowball but it clinks and settles between his legs, falls open to reveal the glint of metal.

“What…” Jensen stares at it, feeling a ball of dread start to tangle in his stomach. He looks up at Jared as he reaches over to fumble for the light above the bed. Jared comes into stark relief then as light floods the bunk, his messy hair and scared, wet eyes, his beard that is getting bushy and wild-looking, showing off just how thin Jared is right now, just how jutty his collarbones, just how exposed his ribs.

He’s staring at Jensen like a corpse, his eyes bruise-colored and haunted.

“You can use any of it on me. Any of it. Anything you want. I don’t care.”

It’s such a fucking weird thing to say that Jensen can only blink at him, trying to process the words and make it match the bag in his lap. When none of it comes together, he tears his eyes away and looks back to the bag. Reaches in.

The first thing he pulls out is a hunting knife in a leather sheath.

His eyes snap back up to Jared, staring at him in horror.

“Jared,” he says, his voice soft, shaking hard. “What is this? What are you--”

“I mean it.” Jared’s face is smooth, calm as he reaches over and pulls out a straight razor that he opens just enough to let Jensen see the deadly glint of the blade before he closes it again and tosses it on the bed. A hammer comes next, probably an antique, dark with use and time. He pulls out a bottle of lube that maybe startles Jensen more than anything else he’s seen, jarred to his fucking bones by the implications.

A gun comes out last, a small black pistol, and he turns it in his grip and tries to hand it to Jensen, Jared’s hands trembling so much that he can’t quite manage it.

“I don’t care. Whatever you want. I deserve it. I promise I don’t care. I promise.”

He wants to ask why he has this bag of horrors, when he’s used any of this and why, but all he can manage to do is tuck the gun back inside and push the whole bag over to a corner so he can crowd into Jared’s space, pushing and herding him until Jared is on his back again and Jensen can crawl up on top of him, straddling his lap and stretching out along his front, arms wrapping around Jared’s neck, face hiding in the warmth of his throat.

He sobs, hard enough to shake them both.

“I just want you to _talk_ to me. I just want to understand. Please just… just talk to me. _Please._.” Jensen says, clutching at handfuls of Jared’s hair as he rubs his tear and snot-stained face against his neck, breathing him in and feeling for all the world like this is about to end, like Jared is about to end something, one way or another.

He’s never, not in his whole, strange, short life, been so terrified.

Jared’s got one leg around Jensen’s body and a hand cupping the back of his head while he rubs his bottom lip raw with string-toughened fingers. Jensen would give anything in the world to climb inside his mind tonight, right this very second.

“That day was the anniversary of the hardest day of my life,” Jared finally says, so quiet Jensen has to hold his breath to hear. He stares at the open bag near his head, at the gun shining dark there, waiting. “I don’t… I never do well that day. Never. I got fucked up before the show. Real, _real_ fucked up. And I don’t remember anything about it. Nothing but singing ‘Ana’s Song’. And I don’t remember anything after. Nothing until I got up that morning and woke up with somebody else in this bed.”

Jensen clings to him so tight that his malnourished little arms shake, tears falling silent from his eyes and soaking into Jared’s bare, warm chest. They’re quiet for awhile, Jared’s hand stroking through Jensen’s hair as they both struggle, together and apart.

“I’ve thought about it a lot the last week. A lot. Can’t think about anything else.” Jared’s voice sounds flayed alive, like it’s hanging on by threads. His hand sinks deep into Jensen’s hair and clutches at the back of his skull. “And the only way I know how to say what happened is that I forgot. Forgot everything. Forgot my life now, forgot that… that I had somebody. That somebody was waiting for me.”

Jared swallows and it sounds painful, sounds like an animal holding back the ache of some mortal wound.

“I forgot that I wasn’t alone anymore.”

Jensen’s face crumples in the safe dark of Jared’s neck. He can’t keep in the scrape of his ragged inhale, can’t hide the damp heat of his tears on Jared’s skin. He reaches up and flicks the light off so that he can mouth blindly at Jared’s face, kissing across the sweet line of his nose to the rosy tip and to his mountain man beard to find his mouth, to find his tongue already out and seeking, already waiting for him.

The robe gets tossed out of the bunk, and Jared shoves down his underwear to get the important things out, just a lick across his palm to ease the way as Jensen moves up onto his knees to make room for the impossible length of Jared’s cock so he can catch the tip on his dry, neglected hole and push down with all his weight to force himself open around it.

It hurts, always feels like he’s being pulled apart from the inside, but when Jared sinks in deep and his balls are nestled against Jensen’s tailbone and he can cradle him in his pinkened, searing heartbeat, he knows that he would let Jared do anything he wants to him. Anything at all.

He’d hand that black bag over and not flinch.

“Not alone,” he breathes across Jared’s face as he drops kisses everywhere he can reach, his thighs spreading so he can sink down deep and arch, keeping that dick seated fully inside of him, his belly swollen with cock, with love. Jared’s hand presses hard beneath his navel, violently eager to feel it.

Jared lets out the softest sound, a whimper that sounds so foreign from that throat, from this man who has handfuls of Jensen’s ass gripped as tight as he can hold, who is rocking up and up and up and has his head thrown back like a girl on a romance novel cover, his hair dark and haloing his pale face, his throat exposed. For Jensen.

Jensen goes with his instincts and leans down, running the flat of his tongue up Jared’s throat before sucking on his adam’s apple, his hips working in furious desperation to get that dick, the friction eased only by whatever slick Jared is giving up and the blood they’re forcing from Jensen’s cunt.

“I’m right here, Jared. I’m right here.” He feels Jared swelling inside of him, feels him throbbing bigger and flexing deep as he gets ready to come, the sensation alone enough to kickstart Jensen’s orgasm, a slutty Pavlovian dog in heat.

Jared sobs, once and loud enough to shatter the quiet on the entire bus, and he’s straining up against Jensen’s scant weight, his hips lifting Jensen up off the bed enough that he keeps hitting his head on the ceiling above, probably startling poor Momo out of a dead sleep. They don’t care, he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a fuck about anything because he’s shaking apart on the most perfect dick ever made, he’s being scratched up and bruised and overloved and swallowed whole by a man he’s loved since the first time he saw him, he’s been filled warm and scalding and it hurts so much that tears are burning in his eyes again, but his little ass shudders in Jared’s hands, thighs trembling as he rocks and grinds on top of him, getting out the last few drops from Jared that are so goddamn good it makes Jensen’s toes curl.

“Oh, baby,” Jared sighs, sounding absolutely drunk and enthralled, his voice thick with emotion as he finally lets go of Jensen’s used-up ass and rubs up the whorish arch of his back and around to his little wife belly, both of them sighing low and content as they lick at each other’s mouths now, trading a tongueful of spit back and forth until Jared keeps it for himself and swallows it, grinning before he gives Jensen his tongue to nurse on for awhile.

“Thank _god_ ,” Jeff groans from the bunk next door after a few beats of relative quiet, followed by a smattering of applause from Momo, Adri, and Chad.

“Fuck off,” Jared yells out to them, but he’s smiling as he runs a hand down Jensen’s ass again to keep him where he is: wrapped up tight and creamy around Jared’s dick.

Music suddenly starts up loud from the bus speakers, and everybody yells at once when they realize what song it is.

“Chad, there’s a fucking rule in place for this!” Adrianne yells. “No ‘Sexual Healing’ after midnight. Fuckin’ period, end of story.”

“Tell those two that!” Chad calls back, turning the music up even louder.

Jensen stretches out like a kitten and relaxes on top of Jared and in his arms, already half-asleep in spite of everything.

 

Jensen sits on a speaker off to the side of the stage next to Jared sometimes, especially those days when he can tell Jared’s feeling restless and maybe a little needier than usual. And since they haven’t left each other’s sight since the night before, Jensen’s parked there right now, hot pink mesh thighs crossed high, red chucks shaking to the beat.

Jared walks up to Jeff’s mic the second song into the encore, his whole body loose and relaxed, his smile coming easy as he glances over at Jensen, lips practically caressing the microphone as he speaks clear and low into it.

“This one’s for somebody real special to me. Somebody that takes care of me so good, I barely know what to do with myself most of the time.”

The smile turns into a grin as Jared’s fingers find their place on the guitar, pick poised.

“This one’s for you, Jen.”

The unmistakable opening chords to “Sweet Child O' Mine” start up, and there isn’t a single cell in Jensen’s body that isn’t vibrating straight up off the speaker, that isn’t shivering violently with love and love and love and love.

He flies to his feet, eyes glistening with fairytale-tears, his dimple piercings aching as he prepares to sing along with his man to every word.

He’s gonna sing his fucking heart out.


End file.
